a match made in hell
by leboisduloup
Summary: Also called: Why You Shouldn't All Get Smashingly Drunk. I mean it in jest- please don't hurt me. Though I think Vash'n'Nick are the biggest threat to me right now. ^____^
1. good morning, sunshine!

This is written in jest and mockery.  The boys're gonna kill me for it, but I couldn't resist.  XD  Welcome to the sickest little ficlet I've written yet.  And may I say, in my defense, that this is a JOKE.  I do NOT do vash/nick.  It's just wrong.  And besides, the boy is _mine.  ::Snuggs the priest possessively.::_

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Vash the Stampede, the humanoid typhoon, worth sixty billion double dollars... was a man of many talents.  He could shoot, he could run, he had a grasp of lost technology that would stagger most people's minds.  

He was not, however, omnipotent.  His current situation illustrated this perfectly.  

The spiky-haired outlaw was currently in a state somewhere between sleep and coma, having gone drinking the evening before.  Had we mentioned that Vash was not omnipotent?  Well.  His many talents did not, sadly, include the ability to hold his liquor.  

Nicholas D. Wolfwood, on the other hand, was usually quite capable of drinking anyone under the table.  He'd done it before.  Sadly, though, it seemed he'd finally met his match and drunken himself under the table- the priest was in a similar state to the outlaw, with both of them lingering between the waking world and the unconscious one, occasionally emitting a small groan or whimper as varicolored animals of all persuasions pirouetted over the walls.

Now and then an eyelid would crack, the colored orb beneath casting about a moment in a listless attempt at orientation.  Each time was a failure.  The walls offered, besides their hallucinogenic menagerie, no clue as to where this place was.  Assumably- guessing from the cheap paint, the rough feel of the sheets beneath them, and the faintly pervasive, peculiar, singular scent of a communal room- this was some random hotel.  If either man could remember where precisely he'd been when he'd passed out, it might be some indication; however, such minor details eluded the two victims of hangovers.  

Finally, after having stirred apathetically for some time without a word, the random motions were brought under reign and, almost in unison, the two managed to roll over.

...And they found themselves staring across the rumpled sheets at each other.

Vash and Wolfwood screamed in admirable chorus and jumped as well as could be managed, ending up on the floor on either side of the bed, staring at the ceiling and contemplating just what a bad idea the reaction had been.  

It was in the midst of this, with one hand flung over his head, that Vash's many talents came into play.  He noticed the glitter on his hand... a thin, plain band of gold circling the finger beside the pinkie.  

Slowly, the tops of two heads came into view over the sides of the bed, followed in short succession by two familiar visages.  Wide-eyed, the friends stared at each other over the width of the covers, resting hands upon the edge to pull themselves up.  

They managed to catch sight of each other's rings almost immediately.  

"Oh, God," groaned Nicholas, raising a limb to massage his aching head, and calling further attention to the ring, "Someone... please tell me we married the insurance girls."

Vash didn't answer.  

Thanks be for small things.


	2. the hangover honeymoon

Chapter Two

YAY!  Thaank y'all fer the positive feedback.  ::snigger.:: it's just so much FUN to mock the characters.  ::sighs happily.::

The girls, of course, possessed no matching rings, leaving the priest and the outlaw with the disturbing realization that they were, indeed, wedded.  Meryl and Milly were bemused (and, perhaps, a little _amused,) but they congratulated the hapless happy couple nonetheless.  _

"_Thanks," growled Wolfwood as he made a beeline for the proverbial hair of the dog.  More of the same was among the best cures for a hangover- and if it didn't work, there was always the option of unconsciousness again.  _Which is probably not a good idea.__  God knows _who__ I'd marry then._

Vash, meanwhile, was currently sitting at a table staring into space.  He'd never dealt well with hangovers, but at the moment the pounding of his head took second string to the thoughts buzzing within it.  _Great._  Just great.  As if it weren't hard enough to have a good time with the insurance chicks following us around, now I'm _married__?  Slowly but surely, he flopped forward onto the table, the pounding of his head finally managing to distract him from infinitely more painful thoughts.  He gave a low, prolonged groan._

The girls were somewhat less bothered.  Milly, though a little perplexed, finally decided that Mr. Vash and Mr. Wolfwood were both nice enough people that she hoped they'd be happy together, and besides they'd always argued like a married couple, and was just wistfully regretful that she hadn't known, to send flowers or pudding or something.  Meryl was busy at her typewriter- ostensibly writing a report on the current proceedings.  In a way this was the truth.  

_Dear Mother,_

_You know how you've been pressuring me to find myself a man...?  And remember that I told you I thought_

_I might have...?  Well, I'm afraid you won't be having grandchildren any time soon- he's already married.  _

She thought perhaps she ought to leave it at that.  The particulars of the situation were confusing to her._  Besides, I am SO much cuter than that unshaven priest-guy._  Meryl glared at nothing in particular for a few moments, sitting alone at a table in the common room of the hotel.  A waiter, shaking a little, scuttled over and queried in a tremulous voice whether she'd like anything to eat.  The fire of her stare was turned on him, and he shriveled further.

"A banana sundae.  With _extra whipped cream."_

Not like there was any reason to watch her figure, all things considered.  She awaited her treat, drumming a rhythm on the table with her fingers.  When it came, she spent a few moments staring in the direction of the red-coated man, clutching her spoon like a weapon, before she began to eat without looking at her sundae.

Vash, meanwhile, had drifted into a more natural unconsciousness.  He did not, may we stress, deal well with alcohol.  


End file.
